The marks upon your skin
by kirinokisu
Summary: There are days when Kuroko is afraid he is fighting a battle already lost. And then there are days when Kuroko isn't sure which one of them is the bigger idiot. AoKuro, future fic


_____A/N: Written for AoKuro Valentine's Day Event on Tumblr._

* * *

_**The marks upon your skin**_

The first time Tetsuya pays closer attention to the bruises and hickeys and bite marks on his skin, he blinks. He traces them with his eyes, then with his fingers, wondering. They never seem to fade anymore.

"Hey, Tetsu, have you seen-" Daiki barges into the bathroom, as usual without any concept of privacy. He comes to an abrupt halt when he sees Tetsuya standing shirtless in front of the mirror, fingers hovering over his collarbone. "...my belt."

Daiki's shirt is only half-buttoned and Tetsuya can see his chest, toned and nice and familiar. Bare of any marks.

His silence must have put Daiki off, because he clears his throat and his eyes shift from place to place, carefully avoiding Tetsuya's eyes. Or maybe it's because of the ridiculous squabble they had yesterday.

Sometimes Tetsuya wishes they both weren't so stubborn.

"Living room," he replies calmly. "Exactly where you last took it off."

Daiki's eyes dart towards the hickey Tetsuya is still touching, linger there for a while.

"I uh... Yeah, thanks."

He leaves as abruptly as he came, but his shoulders lose some of the tension somewhere in that short moment.

Tetsuya's eyes return to his reflection in the mirror, to the vibrant patch of red on his collarbone.

It isn't like Daiki to be possessive.

But it is so like him to approach everything like he approaches basketball, Tetsuya decides. So very like him to push until he owns it. Until his mark on it is permanent.

A part of Tetsuya rejoices at the thought; the other is paralysed with terror.

It's not like he minds the marks themselves. They are never visible from beneath his teacher uniform, and sweaty locker rooms and common showers are now a thing of the past.

It is the implication that makes the room spin.

It is not so long ago that they played a game with Kagami and Kise, and something in Daiki changed then. Something in his eyes, something Tetsuya couldn't – wasn't ready to, a tiny voice whispers – try to understand. It got more awful with each pass Tetsuya made, and he had to look away even though he promised himself to never do so again.

That night, Daiki caught him in the shower and took him against the tiled wall. It was greedy and hurried and raw, and Tetsuya's shoulder stung from where Daiki bit him to muffle the screams. His fingers dug painfully into Tetsuya's hips, leaving behind bruises, and if Tetsuya had any ability to think at that moment, he would've been terrified they were going to be permanent. And then Daiki just retreated, without a word, leaving Tetsuya breathless and worn under the scalding water. When he closed his eyes, he could still feel Daiki trembling against him.

Sometimes Tetsuya longs for control he knows he never had when it comes to Daiki. He swears to himself to stay silent, to stay composed, but fails miserably each time. Despite the promises, he opens up in every way possible. And Daiki takes it all, with a strange look of delight on his face.

But Tetsuya is nothing if not determined.

So he clings desperately to what little parts he still has to himself, patches his carefully built walls, and watches Daiki take them apart again, not block by block, but all at once, demolishing the concrete until only tiny pebbles remain.

Tetsuya tells him to stop one time – half-heartedly, perhaps – but Daiki doesn't listen because when has he ever. He lets out a throaty laugh and traces the shape of Tetsuya's neck with his tongue. His movements are languid and careless and mocking. Tetsuya's eyes narrow and he tugs at Daiki's short hair, hard. Daiki laughs again, then sinks his teeth in the junction between Tetsuya's neck and shoulder.

Daiki's new hobby escalates to the point where he starts marking Tetsuya even during such trivial things as cooking breakfast. He comes behind Tetsuya, fresh from the shower, and the cold droplets of water fall on Tetsuya's skin – slide down his neck, his spine – making Tetsuya shiver. Daiki buries his face in the fine hair at the nape of Tetsuya's neck, nuzzles it gently and then pulls a patch of skin into his mouth, nibbling and sucking on it until it turns bright red. Tetsuya doesn't move, his fingers clutching the skillet turn white.

The same routine is repeated the next morning, and the next, and the next. Sometimes it's his neck, sometimes it's his shoulder, and sometimes the marks are all over him because Daiki is selfish and he takes Tetsuya deep and slow on the kitchen counter even though they both have to be at work soon.

Tetsuya never stops frowning in disapproval. Daiki never stops doing it anyway.

And each time, Tetsuya feels his control slip through his fingers like grains of sand.

* * *

It is only months later, after their biggest fight to day – as he once again finds himself looking at his reflection in the mirror, at the fading marks scattered across his skin – that Tetsuya realises he's been wrong all along.

Tetsuya wants to laugh at his own stupidity.

Daiki, the big idiot, really does approach everything like basketball. He _does_ expect everything. Tetsuya merely forgot that he also gives just as much in return.

And as Tetsuya traces the marks Daiki left behind with silent wonder, he feels calm, content. Because he knows that as long as these marks stay with him, they – the two of them – are going to be okay.

* * *

When Daiki comes home that night – disheveled and tired and late into the night – Tetsuya takes his hand wordlessly, breathes him in and lets him mark Tetsuya with no resistance.

_The end._


End file.
